Lost
by brookyss36
Summary: Influenced by the TV series Lost. Moriarty crashes the plane that he, Sherlock, John, and Greg are on, sending them to a deserted island. They quickly discover that the island isn't quite what it seems and surviving on the island is being made extremely difficult by Moriarty who pushes them to their breaking points. Survival's the name of the game. So, let the games begin.
1. Crash

Update: I noticed a few inconsistencies in my story so I made a few slight changes.

* * *

"Why are plane rides so…boring?" Sherlock lazily looked out the plane window next to him, watching the clouds dully drift beneath them. His mind was constantly racing and the plane ride home wasn't giving him much to think about.

Both John and Greg looked at each other and grinned.

A new lead on the Moriarty case had sent the three of them to the United States for a couple days to do some investigating. Several eyewitnesses had placed Moriarty in Las Vegas but, as much as the trio tried, they couldn't find him anywhere. Sherlock deduced that he had already moved on to a new location and, more probable, had returned to England.

"Why didn't you bring a book or something?" John looked up at Sherlock from the book he was reading.

Sherlock responded by abruptly pulling down the window shade. He sat with his arms crossed staring blankly at the seat in front of him before he stood up and made his way toward the aisle.

"Where are you going?" Greg looked up at Sherlock from his bloody mary.

"I need to stretch my legs. Who knows, maybe I'll find some new clients."

"Yeah, well, have fun with that." Greg said with a chuckle as he tilted his head to finish his drink.

Sherlock walked out of first class and towards the back of the plane, eyes scanning every person he passed by. John just smiled and returned to his book.

"I wonder what it's like being Sherlock Holmes." Greg mused.

"I don't even think he knows the answer to that question."

They both laughed.

A voice from the aisle cut through their laughter and made John's hair raise on the back of his neck. "Excuse me. Do you gentlemen want a drink?"

He knew that voice. But it couldn't be, could it?

He slowly forced himself to look up to the source of the voice and stood up abruptly to face the man. A sense of shock overtook him and he struggled to find his voice as it now felt like there was something blocking his throat.

A dark haired man dressed in a pilot's uniform stood in front of them with a manic smile. He had a remote with a red button in his hand.

Greg followed John's lead and looked up; he felt his blood run cold.

"Moriarty…" was all John managed to choke out before about seven men, all wearing normal clothes, stood up, pulled out their bags from beneath their seats, and put what looked like parachutes on their backs.

"I'm sorry to have to cut our little reunion so short, but there's something that I have to do." Moriarty said with insincere sadness.

Before John or Greg could do anything, Moriarty pushed the red button in his hand and two loud explosions occurred.

John looked out the window to his left and saw, with horror, that the wing of the plane was no longer there. He and Greg scrambled back into their seats as the plane was thrown into a steep descent. All they could do was put on their seat belts and the oxygen masks that had fallen in front of them.

Another explosion. John wrenched his head to look behind him and saw that the back half of the plane had been blown off. People that didn't have time to get their seatbelts on were being sucked out of the plane and the people in the back half flew into the air with it.

"Sherlock!" John screamed instinctively into his oxygen mask. Why did Sherlock have to go into the back of the plane? He hoped and prayed that Sherlock had made it to a seat in time. He then noticed Moriarty and his men jump out of the plane through the emergency door with their parachute packs on.

John looked back ahead and then looked at Greg, fear was the main emotion on his face and John was sure that he looked the same. He looked back out of the window and felt a calm settle over him. _So this is how I'm going to die..._and the last thing he remembered seeing was ground rushing to meet them.

* * *

Greg opened his eyes and all he could see was white. He blinked them rapidly a few times until his vision came into focus. The first thing that he became aware of was pain. His eyes flew wide open and panic struck him and the memories of what had just happened came flooding back to him. He sat upright and let out an uncontrollable groan as he felt a sheering pain on his stomach. He looked down at his stomach; his shirt was soaked in blood and he lifted it up to inspect the damage. He sucked in a deep breath as he saw a deep, jagged gash running all the way across his abdomen. He rolled over and sat on his knees with a grunt of pain. He noticed startlingly a lot of various cuts and bruises on the rest of his body. Looking around he noticed that all he could see ahead of him was sand and the endless blue ocean. Panic rose inside of him again as he realized the magnitude of the situation that he was in. Stranded, who knows where, with a madman, Moriarty, presumably lurking around somewhere. The sound of rustling trees pulled him away from his thoughts as he looked behind him and saw an endless amount of trees. He struggled to get to his feet and held his stomach as he shuffled his way towards the sound.

"Hello?" He called out weakly.

He stopped at the edge of the trees and waited for a reply.

"Is anybody out there?" His voice was a little stronger.

"Greg, is that you?" A faint voice called out.

"John?" Greg held his stomach again and struggled through the forest towards John's voice.

Greg made it to a clearing in the forest and saw John emerge from the other side.

"Greg! John!" They both said at the same time with relief in their voices.

Greg took a couple of steps towards John before he collapsed on his knees with groan of pain, clutching his stomach.

John rushed towards Greg, kneeled next to him, and grabbed onto his shoulders.

"Oh, God." He looked down and noticed the red stain growing on Greg's shirt.

"Hang on, Greg, I'll be right back."

John rushed into the trees and shortly returned with a bag in his hand.

"I woke up near the plane when we crashed, I was able to find a first aid kit. Thought it might come in handy." He looked at Greg with a small smile.

Greg tried to reciprocate the smile but could only manage a grimace.

"How in the world did you get thrown so far from the plane? It's a long ways away from here."John muttered to himself as he knelt next to Greg and searched through the first aid kit.

Greg squeezed his eyes closed in pain. Truth was, he had no idea what happened after the crash. He blacked out before the plane hit the ground so it was a mystery to him.

"Greg, you're going to have to lie on your back."

Greg nodded and John helped him lay on his back. John slowly pulled Greg's shirt up over his wound. John let a gasp escape from his lips as he saw the damage done to Greg's stomach. The cut ran straight across his stomach and was about seven inches long. The blood escaping from it was alarming.

"I need to stitch it." John said, his face apologetic.

"Wha-What?" Greg felt panicked. "Are you sure?"

"Yes." John held his breath as he looked into Greg's panicked eyes.

Greg hesitated then quickly nodded his head in reply. "Just...get it over with."

John looked through the kit until he found what he was looking for: a needle and string.

He tied the end of the string and paused as he looked sadly into his friend's eyes.

Greg reached up, gripped John's arm, and gave him a comforting smile.

John took a deep breath before he began. "Here we go."


	2. Adaptation

Greg's hand gripped a tree nearby and he felt his fingernails digging into the bark, he let another pathetic whimper escape his lips. He had been trying to hold them back but had been unsuccessful so far. Every stitch John made had ended with a whimper from Greg and a flurry of murmured apologies from John. John knew he was helping, but he could help feeling like he was hurting Greg.

With an audible breath of relief, John finished the last stitch and tied it off.

"I think I've got it." John was glad that he was finished and was pleased to see that the bleeding was minimal. He just hoped that Greg hadn't lost too much blood.

"I'm going to have to disinfect it though. And it's going to hurt. A lot."

Greg nodded. "Just do it."

John rummaged through the first aid kit again until he found the rubbing alcohol. He unscrewed the cap and held it over Greg's wound.

"I'm sorry, Greg."

Greg nodded and John quickly poured the contents over the entire wound.

John had never heard a man scream like that before. It seemed to bounce off of every tree towards their direction and was never ending. A stream of agony of the kind John had never heard and Greg had never experienced.

Greg screwed his eyes shut and gripped the tree next to him with as much strength as he had. He tried not to move and break the stitches, but he was finding that extremely difficult. He started convulsing uncontrollably; it felt like every nerve in his body was exposed.

John held onto Greg's shoulders and tried his best to hold him to the ground as the pain slowly ebbed to a manageable state.

Greg's screams turned into ragged breaths as John sat back and looked at Greg's stitches; they were all fine.

Greg felt tears leak from his eyes as he slowly opened them. John found the antibacterial ointment and bandages and quickly put them on Greg.

John gave Greg a few minutes to recover before he helped him sit up and lean against a tree and he wrapped the final bandage around him.

As John was adding the finishing touches, Greg noticed for the first time just how bad John looked. Cuts and bruises seemed to be covering most him and he noticed a quite a lot of blood all over him.

"That can't all be mine, can it?" Greg murmured as he pointed to John's shirt.

John was confused until he finally realized what Greg was asking. "No, not quite all of it." John noticed the concerned look in his friend's eyes. "It's nothing serious. I'll be fine."

John pulled Greg's shirt back down and grinned at him. "Good as new."

Despite the pain, Greg grinned. "I feel like it too."

"I say we make camp here for the night." John stood up and looked around the clearing. "I grabbed enough food from the plane to get us through a couple of days and I think there's a fresh water stream nearby."

Greg nodded. "Were there any other survivors on the plane that you could see?

John shook his head. "Most everyone died, but there were a few seats unaccounted for which means some people survived and either fled the wreckage or were thrown from it like we were."

They both grew silent and Greg knew that John, like him, was thinking about Sherlock.

John cleared his throat and looked around at the clearing they were in. "I'm going to go look around and find some stuff to build a shelter and a fire. You just sit tight and try not to move."

"Shouldn't be a problem." Greg laughed then grimaced from the pain.

John smiled. "Be right back."

John walked to the edge of the clearing and quickly disappeared behind the thicket of trees. He hoped that Greg didn't notice that he had grabbed the first aid kit. Once he was sure he was out of Greg's sight, he leaned up against a tree and sucked in a deep breath. He unbuttoned his shirt and looked at the wound in his right shoulder. When he woke up from the crash, he found that a rather large piece of metal had been lodged in his shoulder. He had just removed it when Greg had found him. His shoulder hurt but he was sure it didn't hurt as bad as Greg's stomach. He was sure it needed stitches but he didn't have time to do it and he wasn't even sure that he could reach it properly since he would need two hands. He knew he couldn't ask Greg to do it in the state he was currently in, so hee quickly cleaned and bandaged his shoulder before he started looking for materials for a shelter. He collected several giant leaves that were the size of half his body. He dragged them into the clearing and before too long he had almost set up a tent like structure with room enough for he and Greg to stand and sleep in. He attached the leaves together using vine in the shape of a large tarp, then tied them to trees on one end and used sticks to hold up the other end. John built the whole thing over where Greg was sitting so he didn't have to move.

"Feels just like home!" Greg yelled to John as he almost finished his makeshift shelter.

John grinned at Greg. "Well, that's what I had in mind."

"I wonder where everyone else is." Greg's tone had turned serious. John knew that he was really talking about Sherlock and Moriarty.

John shook his head. "I don't know. Sherlock was in the tail end of the plane...and Moriarty has to be somewhere. As for everyone else, I can't imagine too many people survived. I imagine we were probably lucky to survive."

Greg only nodded his head and they were quiet for several minutes as John continued to work on the shelter. They both thought back to the moments before the crash. About Moriarty and Sherlock and the weight of their situation was overwhelming.

John finished up their tent and made some makeshift mattresses out of leaves. He and Greg laid down and stared at the ceiling of leaves above them.

"We're going to have to find him." Greg said with confidence, then faltered. "If he's out there."

John nodded his head. "He's out there. We just have to get to him before Moriarty does."

And with that they both slowly fell asleep as the darkness fell around them.

* * *

**Thanks for the review and all of the follows/favorites! You guys are the best!**


	3. Out of the Frying Pan

**First off, I'm so sorry for how long it has taken me to update! Unfortunately, I expect it to be like that for a while; I have been crazy busy! But I promise to try my best. Anyways, I appreciate the reviews, favorites, and follows. You all are wonderful! :)**

* * *

_Crunch Crunch Crunch. _

John slowly squinted as he tried to opened his eyes. His subconscious was threatening to take him back into sleep.

_Crunch Crunch Crunch. _It was louder this time.

His eyes flew open as a dump of adrenaline flowed through him. He quickly sat up and looked wildly around, trying to see through the trees around them; he couldn't see anything. All there were were trees and more trees.

_Crunch Crunch Crunch. _Even louder this time.

Panic started threatening to overtake him and he looked over to his left at Greg who was still fast asleep.

John started shaking Greg's shoulders. "Greg, wake up, shit..." He frantically looked around as the crunching noise got louder and more frequent.

"Wha'...blimey, what is it, John?" Greg opened his eyes and, with John's help, sat up.

"There's...noises, crunching, coming near us. It sounds like footsteps and more than one person..." John could hear the panic rising in his voice and knew that he needed to calm down. This was like war, he had to keep his head.

He quietly stood up and listened intensely for more sounds. No sounds came and John felt his heart rate lessen slightly.

_Maybe it was just an animal. Yeah, that was probably it. Probably not Moriarty's dangerous goons, just some blood thirsty animals wanting to eat us. I feel much better now._

John would have laughed to himself if the situation wasn't so serious.

Suddenly, it was like a slow ambush, men dressed in black emerged from the trees into the clearing across from where John and Greg were at. One particularly large man was in the front. They were slowly and intently moving toward John and Greg, like they were prey that they knew couldn't get away. John didn't see any weapons in their hands, but, by the size of most of them he doubted they needed any.

John snapped into action as he scrambled to help Greg get to his feet.

"Come on, come on!" John frantically grabbed Greg's arm and pulled him in the direction away from the men.

The two of them set off in a run, as fast as they could go, into the forest. John stumbled over branches and roots and tried to help Greg keep up, he knew that they could only make it so far with Greg's stomach. His breath was coming in hitches, and it wasn't long before he obtained a painful stitch in his side. His heart was pounding as they ran for their lives. Before John knew it, he had lost Greg. He looked back and saw Greg leaning against a tree, one hand clutching his stomach.

"Go, just go!" Greg yelled at John.

John shook his head and made to move toward Greg, he could hear the men growing nearer; he couldn't leave Greg behind.

"No, go John! It's better if they only get one of use instead of both of us!" Greg frantically tried to wave John away.

But it was too late, John had already reached Greg and had put his arm around him and started moving them away from the men coming for them.

"You bloody idiot, why didn't you just leave me? We're never going to make it."

But they kept moving as fast as they could even though John knew that Greg was right. He could hear them growing closer.

_It's useless, _John thought, _we're never going to make it._

Just as that thought entered into John's mind, he felt something hard knock him into the ground on his back and he felt a searing pain above his right eye. He tried to look over and find where Greg was, but blood kept getting in his eyes and obscuring his vision. He heard a cry of pain and reached out next to him trying to get to Greg but rough hands were suddenly holding his arms to the ground. A menacing, angry face filled his line of sight. John immediately felt fear when he saw the man. He wasn't Moriarty, but he was definitely cut from the same cloth.

The man took his grip off of John's arms and grabbed his shirt collar, lifting his head off the ground slightly and shook.

"Where is Sherlock Holmes?" The man was yelling.

John's vision was fading and the man's voice was muffled.

He felt a fist connect with the side of his face and his head lolled to the side. The man continued to shake him.

"Where is he!" The man yelled even louder.

But John was in no condition to reply, his vision was fading to black and practically no sound was coming in. He faintly heard a scream of pain before he felt another fist connect to his face and he passed out.


	4. Lost, Found, and Left for Dead

**Hello everyone! I'm pleasantly surprised how quickly I got this update finished. First off, thanks to everyone who reviewed; I love you all! I'm still kind of writing blindly with this story, but I'm having fun figuring it out as I go. Anyways, enough rambling, enjoy!**

* * *

Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

He immediately became aware of how quiet it was around him. He couldn't hear anything; it was total silence.

He was lying flat on his back and noticed he was lying on a pile of clothes; luggage and bags were strewn around him. As if he had just had freezing water thrown on him, he jumped to his feet and his heartbeat rapidly increased. Sherlock hardly ever felt panicked but this situation was definitely an exception.

He quickly realized that he was in the cargo hold and the memories of what had happened prior to the crash came flooding back to him. After he left John and Greg, he had walked to the back of the plane and quickly came to the conclusion that there weren't any people interesting enough for his time. Disappointed, he had started walking back towards his seat when two security guards had grabbed him and taken him to the back of the plane. He remembered trying to put up a fight but they had covered his nose and mouth with a rag soaked in chloroform. Consciousness escaped him and that's the last thing he remembered.

He pulled himself out of his memories and looked out of the opening of the plane where the plane had broken in half. The water on the beach moved back and forth peacefully, as if everything was as it should be. His mind snapped back into survival mode, survival had to be his main objective. He began to search the bags that were surrounding him for anything useful. He grabbed a large suitcase and dumped the contents out; that's what he would use to put everything in. He found a few lighters, some books, a couple shirts his size, some sweatshirts, a blanket, a few first aid kits, and a knife.

He packed all of his treasures in his suitcase and walked out of the cargo hold onto the soft sand. The heat hit Sherlock suddenly as the sun poured on him. He pulled of his overcoat and stuffed it into his bag, it was too warm to wear it, but it might come in handy at night when it got cold. He untucked his button-up purple shirt from his pants and rolled up his pants so that they went to his knees. He turned back to look at the plane and his eyes drifted toward the upper level of the plane, where the passengers were. He felt of pang of conviction; there could still be people alive in there. With his face set in grim determination he started climbing up to the main level of the plane. The plane had crashed tail end first so it was downward sloping, making Sherlock stumble as he stepped onto the surface.

The first thing Sherlock noticed was the lack of movement in the plane. There were lots of bodies though. Slowly, he made his way through the plane, stopping at each person and checking their pulse, just in case. Finally, he had made it to the last person. No one had survived; except for him. There was only one explanation for everything: Moriarty. Momentarily, Sherlock felt confused. If Moriarty wanted to kill him, why try to ensure that he survive the crash? It took only seconds for him to realize why. It was all a game. A sick, twisted game of survival. Who could last longer before the other died. Anger burst through Sherlock as he looked at the lifeless bodies around him and as he realized the cause of their deaths. It was all so pointless, so stupid. That thought turned his thoughts to John and Greg. His stomach dropped as he wondered if they had survived or had ended up like the rest of the people on the plane. _No, _he said to himself,_ if Moriarty ensured that I would survive the crash, surely he'd do the same for John and Greg. _But uncertainty crept into his mind. He shook his head and decided the only way to find out for sure would be to find John and Greg, dead or alive.

There was only one last bit of the plane to check. He walked through curtains that revealed the area where the bathroom was located and he was pleased to find the food cart lying on its side with food scattered around it. He was slightly disappointed to find that there were only small bags of peanuts and cookies for food, but there were cans of soda and, more importantly, bottles of water. He rushed back into the main area and looked around until he found a small bag and emptied it's contents. He ran back to the food cart and stuffed everything into the bag. Pleased with his find, he climbed back down out of the plane onto solid ground.

Sherlock was finally starting to feel hopeful. He was going to find John and Greg, they would be alive, and then they would finally kill Moriarty. A smile crept at the edge of his lips as he grabbed his luggage and set off on his new mission with a new found determination.

* * *

John didn't want to open his eyes. The sleep that he had been forced into had been so peaceful, so calming. He had dreamt that he was drinking champagne with Sherlock, Greg, Mary, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson at 221b Baker Street and he and Sherlock had just solved a case. It was one of those dreams that you never want to wake up from. Unfortunately, he couldn't seem to maintain a firm grasp on sleep and he was slowly waking up. As his eyes opened, he immediately felt immense pain from the wound on his damaged shoulder, which was now bleeding, and where the cut above his eye was located. The second thing he felt was immense confusion; he was standing upright and his back was against something very hard. He tried to move his arms but he couldn't move them an inch. In fact, the only thing he could move was his head. His arms were tied around a rather large tree and ropes held the rest of his body secure against the tree as well. He looked up and saw that a still unconscious Lestrade was in the same situation across from John, about 20 feet away. John was startled to see that fresh blood looked like it was soaking through Lestrade's shirt.

A loud voice broke John's concerned attention from Greg. "Finally, you're awake!"

The large man who had knocked John out came lumbering toward him and he seemed even more menacing than before.

Stupidly, John struggled against his restraints again. The man just laughed.

"We're in a bit of a predicament here," The man said with a sigh.

John lifted his chin and looked the man in the eyes. "And what would that be?" He was trying to sound braver than he felt.

The man returned John's gaze. "Well, boss says we're only allowed to take one of you to him, but we can't decide which one to take and which one to leave tied to a tree."

John's breathing hitched and his eyes widened as he looked back over at Greg and saw that he was now awake, listening intently but still clearly in pain.

Obviously Sherlock was still out there, or else Moriarty's men wouldn't be looking for him, but was he even alive? If John went with Moriarty's men and left Greg, would Sherlock find Greg or would he die from blood loss? If he let them take Greg, he would probably receive some medical attention and John would probably have a better chance of getting himself free from the tree if Sherlock didn't find him and he could try to rescue Greg.

"Well?" The man barked at John.

"Well what?" John said with the least amount of fear possible.

"Which one of you stays and which one goes?"

John quickly thought it over one more time and glanced at Greg. Greg looked back at John, as if he already knew what John was going to decide.

"I'll stay," John said sternly, still looking at Greg.

The man laughed harshly. "Thought you'd say that."

Two men with knives cut John free of the ropes that bound him to the tree and re-tied his hands in front of him.

It took a moment for John to register what was happening.

"No, no, I told you, take Greg, leave me here!" The volume of his voice was rising.

John started pushing against the two men, who were know holding his arms.

The large man didn't say anything in reply. He walked up to John and tied a bit of rope to the rope tied around John's hands and started walking away, pulling John with him.

The two men let go of John and he violently pulled against his restraints as the large man kept walking, pulling John away from Greg.

John wrenched his head around to try to look at Greg, who was watching the scene with a mix of alarm and pain.

"Greg," John hoarsely yelled and his voice faltered, "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry,"

Greg tried to look as consolidating as he could at his friend, but it was only mere seconds before John was dragged away from view. Greg felt numb with shock as he looked down at his blood stained clothes. He knew some of his stitches had ripped and he was bleeding again. He prayed that John would be okay, but the realistic side of him knew that neither of them were going to be okay if they made it out of this alive. And, at the moment, Greg was highly doubtful that he would be alive too much longer. He realized that his last hope for survival was Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
